


Kings of Gotham

by Kings_of_Gotham



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9258848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kings_of_Gotham/pseuds/Kings_of_Gotham
Summary: "Nothing can hurt me more than your goodbye, Ed. Losing you is the only thing that can tear me apart... but please, I beg you, I'd rather die than let you go!"Edward heard every word like it was  muffled… a much greater sound, inside of him, was covering Penguin’s words. It was his furious heartbeat.Was it anger?After a few seconds Nygma shut his lips and looked at Oswald in the eyes, immediately noticing tears veiling them.“You’re standing too close.”





	1. You're standing too close

**Author's Note:**

> This ff (focus on Nygmobblepot relationship) begins after the episode 3x11 and it will follow spoilers and new episodes.  
> English is not our native language so be kind, please. ;)  
> We hope you enjoy it!

At the Cobblepot mansion, since early in the morning, the usual sounds from the kitchen produced by Olga making breakfast could be clearly heard. The servant began to sing a melody, accompanied by Russian words, while starting to toast some slices of bread.  
“Everything has to be perfect, please.” That was the exact request from her master.  
Nygma, as the woman noticed, didn’t came home that night. He called the Mayor and they agreed to meet up for breakfast the next day.  
She didn’t know exactly what happened, but in those days Penguin grew sadder because of him… and, that morning, when he woke up and went to greet her, he was paler than usual.  
His light blue eyes were framed by two marked dark circles, and they were reddish, a clear sign that he spent the night crying instead of taking some rest. Olga snorted, upset, wishing that the situation could end soon and came back to her job, while Oswald began to walk around the room, nervous and impatient.  
That day would have been very busy for him: a long and important interview was waiting for him. He was Gotham’s Mayor now, it was more than natural being always under the spotlight and soon, his private life too, would have been exposed at public domain…  
This whole thing contributed to making him more impatient.  
He sat up at the table after he fastened the night vest’s belt and began to watch the objects in the room around him.  
Time passed slowly and inexorable, his meeting with Edward was nearer and nearer…  
When Olga entered the room at the established hour to lay the table and put the food on it, Cobblepot felt his heart race faster, it was only a matter of minutes. He cleared his throat nervously and began to think of what to say, how to say it, the precise words to use, how Edward could have answered… Those minutes seemed long and endless, he wanted it to be all perfect and planned in every detail, but at the same time he would have preferred to distract himself and face the conversation at Ed’s arrive, so that his words would have sounded more sincere, with less premeditation, and the weight that he was feeling on his chest would be lifted a bit. While a bunch of twisted and conflicting thoughts crowded in his mind, the sound produced by his own fingers, that he was unconsciously drumming on the table, took him back to reality, he looked at the clock, asking himself how long his nervousness would have corroded him from the inside: without even noticing, three hours passed from the time they planned to meet. It seemed like he forgot how to breathe, he felt like choking…  
Not again, not that morning, not after those words!  
Edward agreed to remain his friend, but maybe, sleep under the same roof would have been embarrassing for him, so he offered him to spend the night away, and then meet up for breakfast to talk.  
After three hours, he was still waiting for him, his stomach closed because of nervousness, didn’t let him eat the food in front of him, that got cold and not edible anymore.  
Trying not to think at the last time Edward left him waiting like that, he decided to distract himself, getting up to get ready for the interview that was, by that time, imminent. While he was going to his room, Cobblepot stopped, he heard steps approach towards him. “Oswald…” Edward’s voice resounded in the corridor, calling the Mayor’s attention. “…is it too late to have breakfast?”  
Seeing him, Oswald felt a sharp pain through his chest. Was he really there? Did he really return to him? “E-ed! Of course, of course breakfast’s still here.” His voice was trembling because of the nervousness and the happiness, seeing again his Chief of Staff at home. “Olga? Olga!” Cobblepot called for his domestic, asking her to prepare something warm while he sat again at the table, followed by Nygma. “Did you… sleep well in the hotel room I booked for you?”  
“Perfectly.” Answered back the other one, without being too much of a company. His expression was hard and he didn’t seem happy to be there… maybe he did it only out of duty? Oswald kept looking at him, nervously moving his hands and, sometimes, biting his lower lip.  
Edward was looking back at him, impassible. When Oswald was going to open his mouth, Olga entered hasty the room, moving the food from the tray to the table with much care, looking curious at the men that, after being alone again, started to eat quietly, exchanging from time to time furtive glances, and then looking back at their own plates.  
Oswald was the one who broke the silence between them: “I thought you wouldn’t come…” he confessed, making Edward rise his eyes. “D-don’t misunderstand me. I know that you would never miss a work commitment… and I-I’m very grateful that you came, despite everything. I hope that this stupid embarrassment between us will pass soon!” he tried to force a laugh, reaching for his cup of tea with a trembling hand. Obviously, Nygma noticed his tension and, after taking a long breath, he began to talk. “Oswald… I’m here because I wanted to ask you again for my resignation.”  
The Mayor blinked his eyes a couple of times, waiting to fully understand and metabolize those words, he imagined them, right…?  
Nygma took out of the inner pocket of his jacket a paper, the same one he once put in front of Cobblepot’s eyes. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”  
Seven simple words that seemed to crash Cobblepot, who didn’t find even one believable excuse to keep Ed by his side, to make him change his idea…  
“That’s because I love you?” he asked in a whisper, without having the courage to look at him in the eyes.  
At those words, Edward swallowed with difficulty.  
He loved him?  
“That’s because I don’t know if I will ever forgive you for killing Isabella.” Simply stated the man.  
Cobblepot dropped the cup of tea, scattering a thousand pieces on the floor…  
“W-what… How-”  
“No more lies, Oswald.”  
The sound produced by the porcelain attracted Olga, that came instantly to clean up the disaster the Mayor made, the Mayor who, still upset, couldn’t say a word to Nygma.  
He knew everything. He knew that it was him who killed his beloved Isabelle or how the hell that killjoy’s name was, her, that in less than a week ruined everything they had…  
He knew about his lies, about his feelings.  
Oswald Cobblepot was trapped and couldn’t see a way out…  
Would he kill him? Would he claim his revenge? Was he bluffing? Was he trying to take the truth from him?  
Penguin couldn’t think rationally.  
“Ed… I…”  
“Thank you for the breakfast.”  
Edward putted his napkin on the table, and, without even looking at him, he got up, placed the chair under the table and was going to leave, when a hand took him by the wrist- …when did he reach him…? He didn’t move, looking straight in front of him, without moving a muscle. Oswald was squeezing his wrist spasmodically, his breath trembling, his eyes beginning to burn and get foggy; Edward knew everything, it was too late to hide, he already once gave up on his feelings, on his behavior, asking him only one thing: not to leave him… he would have done it again and again, just not to lose him, praying him not to, if it was necessary!  
"Nothing can hurt me more than your goodbye, Ed. Losing you is the only thing that can tear me apart... but please, I beg you, I'd rather die than let you go!"  
Edward heard every word like it was muffled… a much greater sound, inside of him, was covering Penguin’s words. It was his furious heartbeat.  
Was it anger?  
After a few seconds Nygma shut his lips and looked at Oswald in the eyes, immediately noticing tears veiling them.  
“You’re standing too close.” He decided to cut off all of it with that sentence.  
The same one Cobblepot said to him when they first met, at Gotham’s Police Station, annoyed by his nearness and his particular ways of approach.  
Hearing those words, Oswald immediately left Edward, bringing the hand at his mouth; he held his voice while looking in Edward’s direction without really seeing him, the tears he was holding back were now streaming down his face and he could barely see Nygma’s dark silhouette becoming smaller, vanishing accompanied by the sound of a door closing.  
A sound made Oswald jerk: Olga was gathering the pieces of what once was his cup. When the woman finished, she lifted her eyes, crossing Oswald’s red ones, she putted the fragments aside and walked up to him, looking at him with compassion – she never liked that Nygma, and she was right. She offered Oswald a clean napkin to dry his face and, after thinking about it, she announced with her marked Russian accent “Gulasch for lunch.” And then went back to her chores.  
With an even more irregular walk than usual, caused by the tumult of emotions that was exploding inside his chest, Oswald was going to his room. The time of the interview was irremediably near and he couldn’t fail his Mayor’s duties, even though at the moment, all that he wanted was to lock himself at home and be alone, isolated from the world. He opened his wardrobes and looked at all his suits, thoroughly, choosing at the end one in full black, like his mood in that moment, he thought, giving up to a gloomy laughter, particularly hoarse because of his throat, dry because of all the tears he cried.  
Even though he always took great care in choosing what to wear, finding the perfect outfit for that event took him double of the usual time; the moment before he was comparing the tie with the cufflinks to match their color, the moment after he was hearing Edward’s words strong and clear, as he came back just to repeat them, going on to torment him, again and again. When he finally managed to collect all the clothes and accessories together, after a quick satisfied check, he began to reluctantly dress himself; in the end, he surrendered to the fact that the thought of Edward wouldn’t leave him, not that day.  
While he was dressing up in front of the mirror he always used when Ed was helping him, he was forced to tighten his eyes not to cry again, when, for two times, he looked away from his reflection, looking behind him, to ask an opinion to… all that appeared before him was nothing more than an empty room. He bit his lower lip while tying up his tie, fighting the instinct to ask for it to be fixed. The vivid purple of the fabric was hurting his eyes, but he could do nothing but choose that one, combining the rest with it. After checking that he was in perfect time, and, again, feeling empty inside while reading his schedule of the day, written by that too much familiar handwriting, he allowed himself some time alone, without thinking about preparations, without doing anything. Cursing himself for the further pain that he was inflicting to himself with that behavior, he sat on the sofa that a lot of times he shared with Edward; he could smell the scent of the cologne he gifted to him, his shampoo, coming from the pillows around him… he thought again about that evening in which Ed risked his life for him, the beautiful words he used towards him, that hug – the first of a long series – he was clinging to with all his strength, in which heat he understood his feelings for his partner… how did they finish that way? He obviously knew that all the fault for what happened after, for the decline, was his, and the discomfort that was already wrapping him seemed to swallow him.

He was looking at all the people that in a few minutes entered his home and overcrowded the dining room, trying to be as calm as possible, repeating to himself that it was his job, that after a few answers given with ease and a smile, they all would leave, that it would have ended soon, so he could think alone. He adjusted himself on the chair, making sure that the table in front of him was perfectly set up: to make it look more familiar, to make sure he had a certain bond with the Gothamites, it was decided that the interview would have been done in his house, in a perfectly studied environment – so perfect that it was almost fake – that represented his normal everyday life outside his Mayor’s duties. He slowly whirled the glass in his hand, relaxing while watching the red wine dancing in it, then he drew the attention to himself, declaring that he was ready to begin.  
Photographers and some journalists remained at the corner of the room, observing every movement, capturing it with a photo, or with words. The cameramen troupe, the sound engineers and the interviewer got in position, waiting to begin at the starting signal for the shooting of what would have been the most entertainment program in that evening’s television schedule. “Good evening to you all, gentle spectators of Gotham!  
Here’s Caroline Morris, from the mansion of the Mayor currently in charge: Oswald Cobblepot.  
Good evening, Mr. Mayor!” the woman began, dressed with an elegant attire in light blue – perfectly intoned with her eyes and her earrings’ color, and her blond hair loose on her shoulder, she gave the microphone to Oswald that, with a forced smile, greeted his citizen.  
Work. He had to concentrate only on that.  
He desired that position ardently and, thanks to Edward’s help, he succeed in obtaining it; normal people, voted for him and acclaimed him loudly. For the first time in his life he felt loved… ironic how it was Nygma, the only one from whom he wanted to receive love, the one who helped him obtaining it from other people.  
The interview was going on and Cobblepot continued being far and distant, his head lost in who knows which thought related to Edward and to what happened only shortly before in that house, in that room.  
“Mr. Mayor… let’s talk about your wonderful manor.  
We’ve been told that you inherited it from your father, Elijah Van Dahl. Don’t you feel alone, living in such a big house?”  
His father… that house… the loneliness.  
One night without Edward was enough to make that house cold as ice… and now, that his partner left him forever, how could he continue living in there without being consumed by the memories?  
“Mr. Mayor?” Caroline’s voice brought him back to reality, more bitter than those thoughts. “S-sorry, I was absentminded.” He cleared his voice and began to talk about how he arrived to that house, how he found his father after spending a painful period in Arkham.  
He always talked about his mother but that was the first time he made public the intimate and short memory he had of his father Elijah. He was going on with his story when the interviewer stopped him to make another question: “You father, to our knowledge, didn’t live alone… you were welcomed from a family, right? Even though you didn’t have any blood relation, how was your relationship? Why don’t they live here with you? As the legitimate only heir, you preferred to keep all for yourself, so you could continue your career, that you had to stop when you entered Arkham?” the tone of her voice was more excited. Those big blue eyes were looking at him with curiosity, ready to snatch his every reaction. So that was what they wanted: an interview to reveal all of his dark secrets, so that they could sink him in his own past. He moisted his lips and, with the calmest tone, tried to vaguely talk about a difficult relationship, the fact that he wasn’t accepted because he was the only true relative, raging about the fact that, what could have been his new family, only cared about the inheritance, that they saw taken away from them in that unsuspected way; Caroline continued to look at him, almost hungrily, while Oswald couldn’t hold a series of discreet insults towards those people, “And how did you reach an agreement with that kind of people? Did you have to recur to the old… hard ways?” Cobblepot looked at her, faking surprise and being perplexed “I simply defended my case, and I succeed in being… understood. But this story is overrated, now I’m here, and I live with the precious memories that my father left me.” The interviewer seemed keen to add something else to pressure him more, but maybe she thought that it was enough so she launched herself to another topic, and seeing her expression, that seemed to interest her way more.  
“So… you’re not married? Do you know that a lot of women consider you as the most fascinating Mayor, as well as the younger, that Gotham ever had?”  
Oswald found himself displaced at those words and, embarrassed, tried not to get into details. “I’m not married, no. And I think that you’re not telling the truth about me, Miss Morris!” he laughed nervously. “Do you know what else people say about you, Mr. Mayor?” the woman continued.  
What was making him agitated to the point that he had to loose the knot of his tie to breathe?  
“No, absolutely. What?” “That you’re gay!” Caroline’s tone was more excited than ever.  
Gossip seemed to fascinate her more than politics!  
“W-what?” his expression was a mix of disbelief and terror.  
How could they think about something like that?  
“Yes, and they say that you made your lover free from Arkham Asylum just to make him your secretary. The same man that lives here with you and that almost died to save you at the Gala organized by the Sirens, am I right? Did you really do it? Did you really set free a psychopath giving him such an important role in you campaign to become Mayor?”  
Oswald made an irritate gesture with his hand, all those questions, the way that… bitch was talking without knowing anything… that shrill and annoying voice… he putted both his hands on the table and took a deep breath, closing his eyes.  
He could do it! He had to stay calm, strike an attitude.  
“That’s absolutely not like that. I find inappropriate your words and I think that we should concentrate over more important things of my private life!” he tried to grasp the situation like that, avoiding the thought of a hypothetical reaction from Edward, seeing that damn interview.  
Would he laugh? Would he be offended?  
Maybe he wasn’t even watching…  
If only he could be there, by his side, he would have controlled early the questions from the schedule and he would have find agreements with the journalists or jumping some private topics.  
The woman didn’t seem to get offended by Cobblepot’s answer and continued to press with other questions: “But these details are what people that follows this interview are interested in! For example, we know you had problems because of a love triangle, is that true?” Oswald’s heart sank; all those references about Edward and their relationship weren’t enough, they succeed in putting Isabelle in there too. What could he possibly say? How could he avoid being too suspect about some points? He felt his hands sweating, then tighten them in a fist. With the satisfied expression of a lion that reaches his prey, Caroline didn’t stop there and, taking advantage of Oswald’s silence, continued: “One more thing, Mr. Mayor… do you at least confirm that you used your position to cover up the murder of Edward Nygma’s lover? That you did it out of jealousy?” at those words Penguin lost all the ability to think.  
They knew, they knew everything. What could he possibly do? If Edward was watching… panicking, he took his glass of wine to drink, trying to get quiet, but, his trembling hand, the pressure he felt from the journalists’ glances, the flashes that continued to hurt his eyes, the incessant “Mr. Mayor?” from that woman, could do nothing but making the situation worst.  
Tightening the glass, he hurled it on the floor with anger, a few centimeters away from Caroline’s feet.  
“How dare you, you damn slut!” he growled madly.  
How the hell could she get those informations? Who did she pay to know those particulars?  
His enemies’ list was long but there was only one name that could come to his mind: Edward Nygma.  
He shook his head.  
He didn’t accept the idea that his best friend, or the man who pretended to be so until a few hours before, could sell all of it to the press with the only purpose of making him fall in an abyss of shame…  
He reminded their hug at the literary prizegiving, the words Ed said to his ear, in an intimate and furtive motion: “You’re my best friend as well, Oswald, remember that.”  
Those words resounded in the Mayor’s mind more and more, almost as a sad echo only able to hurt him more at every comeback. If those words were sincere, why he was abandoned like that, that morning?  
Why he was so hard to him? And, above all, why did he sell the whole story about Isabelle, Isabella – or what the hell her name was – to the press?  
Caroline didn’t move from her place: some drops of blood, mixed with wine, stained her ankles where some pieces of glass reached her. The journalists’ crowd appeared clearly brim and nervous, they were whispering between them looking at Oswald, but they weren’t moving, frightened.  
It happened, the Mayor just revealed himself for what he was, what he always had been, from the start: a mere criminal prone to violence. But Oswald didn’t care about that anymore. That further betrayal from Edward hit him like a punch in the stomach, he couldn’t believe that he was capable of something like that… prey to the memories from that morning, painfully mixed with their moments together, he suddenly got up, talking to the people in front of him with an out of control rage, spitting all the poison he felt inside his body with every word, that directed with despise to every one of them: “OUT. OF. HERE.” He shouted, emphasizing every word with a punch at the table, filling the room with the sound of the beating on the fine wood, amplified by the dishes that were tinkling under those hits.  
The whispers and the chatter of the journalists ended instantly, and everyone looked frightened at the Mayor.  
“NOW!”  
The first one who got out was Caroline, followed by the rest of them; someone turned around his head, looking at Penguin, someone else pushed the others, anxious to leave that place.  
Oswald left himself fall on the chair, grabbing his hair with violence, not sure if that piercing pain was caused by the violent punches he aimed at his table or by the thought that, in that way, Edward had wanted to leave him forever.

Meanwhile the interview was watched by the whole Gotham City: the citizens, the police, allies and enemies of Oswald Cobblepot remained stunned, knowing certain informations.  
At the Sirens however, Butch, Tabitha and Barbara, almost triumphed seeing that their plan was working.  
Putting Nygma against Penguin was an ingenious move, especially because they knew that the latter was in love with the first one! A war was coming and this was only the first move to open the ball.  
“I can already see the title on the Gotham Gazette tomorrow: Mayor Cobblepot ruined!” exclaimed sarcastic Tabitha, smiling at the images on the screen.  
Butch brushed gently her shoulder with the hand, apprehensive. They waited so long, but finally their revenge was coming or, at least, the first part of it.  
“They don’t know that, aside from his stupid Mayor’s career they even destroyed all of his Empire!”  
Barbara ignored them, continuing to enjoy the show on tv and clapping her hand at the end of the program.  
“And the King… falls.” She whispered towards the image of a desperate Cobblepot, showed again on the screen and then she left herself go in a maniacal laughter that filled the elegant white room of the Sirens. “Bye, bye!”


	2. The son of Rage and Misery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay but this chapter has been particularly hard to write.  
> There is a strong theme inside it for plot reasons... we hope we weren't too cruel (considering that it's only the second chapter).  
> Enjoy!

The plan was set.

Twisted, sneaky, infallible.

Edward Nygma knew exactly where, when and how to strike to make Oswald Cobblepot fall… it was maybe unfair to take advantage of the other one’s weaknesses, that a really few people knew about, including him, as the Chief of Staff and an intimate friend too.

First step: ruin his reputation.

The interview that was on air at that moment with the whole city focused on it, was the easiest move for sure; it was sufficient to find a nosy journalist that didn’t like the new Mayor, uneasy confessions and anonymous phone calls.

Second step: ruin his mental integrity.

After both of his parents’ loss and the tortures he suffered in Arkham, Oswald had definitely changed. For some ways he was more fragile and more ruthless for others; Nygma’s support and his becoming Gotham’s Mayor succeeded in giving Penguin some firm points in his life that, at the moment, finally seemed normal.

Confirming this Cobblepot showed off, in his mansion, on display, his Arkham’s release certificate, an emblem of his “resurrection”.

He was able to rise from the dust coming back stronger than before and, unexpectedly, he conquered the trust and support of Gotham City too.

It was exactly that emblem of pride and certainty that had to be damaged, Nygma thought.

Oswald Cobblepot was insane, a criminal, a ruthless killer. It wasn’t only the city that needed to know about it or, rather, to remember it…

Tightening his coat around him, because of the cold, and to not be recognized, Edward reached the pub where he had the appointment, entering cautious. He found the right table almost immediately; with a movement of the hand, the man that he had to meet claimed his attention. He sat looking around then concentrating on his interlocutor. “I’m here for Oswald Cobblepot.”, the man laughed “Straight to the point, uh?!” but Edward, didn’t move his lips to respond.

Afterwards he bent on the table to let him hear clearly his whisper and continued: “I need you and your ability to destroy him.”

Clayface smiled flattered, grabbing his glass and sipping white wine. “Tell me what you have in mind.”

Nygma took out of his coat’s pocket a picture and putted it on the table. With the index and the middle finger he lengthened the picture to him. “He was Elijah Van Dahl, Penguin’s dead father.

He was very attached to him… I need you to take his appearance and go to the Mayor’s mansion, pretending to be his ghost.”

“… the Mayor believes in ghosts?” “The Mayor will believe in everything I want him to believe.”

 

 

Still shaking out of anger, Oswald was feeling his head exploding because of all the thoughts. His career had clearly reached its end: his violent outburst was filmed and aired in all the city, every citizen in Gotham City waited for that interview glued to the television and, consequently, every citizen saw what their Mayor could do. He managed to become someone, to fulfill the wish towards his mother, but, in a few seconds, he destroyed everything that he worked for, _they_ worked for, because, without Edward, he would never have done that. It was Edward that supported him, that helped him and especially that believed in him, he wouldn’t have all that he had if it were not for Ed, and, just thinking about him, made him lost it all. Now that he was all alone he indulged himself, suffocated from an overpowering dejection, in tears again, after those facts, more bitter than before; after gaining control over his body again, resting more weight than usual on his cane, he went towards his own portrait, looking at the small Edward he succeed to make included on the background. He thought back at the day when it was painted, when he showed it to him… even though he had found clues about Isabella’s death, Edward patiently waited for him to talk, to show him his “surprise”. That thought pierced him from part to part: Edward had always blindly trusted him, he respected him and putted him in first place, giving him the possibility to talk to him first and furthermore he never for a second suspected of him. How could he be so egoist towards him ruining all that they had in that way, because of a whim…? He closed his eyes and squeezed the nose’s bridge, thinking. They left each other in the worst way possible, and, shocked by Edward’s words, he couldn’t react fast enough, but he didn’t want that to be the last memory he had of him, their last moment together… if Ed didn’t want to see him, he could at least talk to him on the phone! He almost rushed towards the sitting room’s coffee table, where the cellphone was. He grabbed it and dialed Edward’s number in a second, then, when it was time to push the call’s button, he felt his hands sweating, his heart beat faster. A heavy veil of doubt and insecurity enveloped him like a blanket, he swallowed noisily and started the call. “This is Edward. Leave a message or not. Doesn't really matter” Oswald, unconsciously sighed out of relief; the thought of talking to Ed terrorized him and maybe leave a message, giving him the opportunity to choose between hearing it or not, was a better idea. He took courage and spoke: “I know that you probably don’t want to answer me… that maybe, you hate me. I’m sorry, my friend. Without you it’s all going downhill… I can’t even keep in countenance. Maybe you won’t even lose your time hearing this message… but… I would like to tell you at least one thing before letting this go downhill too. One thing that I never had the courage to tell you before. I love you, Edward Nygma… like I never loved anyone. I’m sorry for Isabelle… I-isabella! T-that you discovered it like that. That you didn’t give me a chance to explain why I did all of this… but I don’t think it’s important now. In one way or another my feelings hurt you… I wasn’t able to love you like I should have, like you needed. I’m a damn egoist, Ed. I’m sorry… I- I wish you a good life. You deserve it… G-goodbye, my frien… my love.”

He closed the phone and left it fall on the floor. His throat was irredeemably dry, the chest heavy like a rock and the legs were trembling… he slipped off the tie, caressing absently the velvety fabric, throwing on the floor that too; then he left himself drop on the sofa near the fireplace.

The same sofa where he understood that he was in love with Edward.

The memories from that night powerfully came back in his mind and his heart, tormenting him more than necessary. If only he had the courage of immediately giving a name to that feeling… maybe they would never have reached that point.

Maybe he would have been in his arms, right in that moment.

Maybe…

He took his shoes off and putted them neatly near the sofa, then lied down covering his face with an arm.

Exhausted he indulged himself in a liberating crying… in the silence of the evening, in that empty house, Cobblepot gave up to the pain until the sleep took him.

 

A suddenly loud noise, the window was slamming assaulted by the wind and the rain, and a glacial cold overwhelmed him, making him wake up. He looked around lost, before remembering where he was, and why; he sat up still agitated by the abrupt awakening, uncertainly putting his feet on the floor.

He knelt beside the cellphone on the carpet checking every sign of an Edward’s answer.

Nothing.

A soft brush on the other side of the room made him turn immediately: standing, exactly under the arch that was separating the sitting room from the corridor, looking back at him, was Elijah Van Dahl, his father. Trembling, he stood up, using the table above him as a support to stand and, because of the shock he was having, to not fall; “Father…?” he uncertainly called, with a feeble voice. He wasn’t sure if he was still sleeping, he felt that presence so… real. His father’s voice reached him desperate and ethereal, “Help me…” hearing him talk totally convinced him: it was really happening. Still searching for a support with his hands, he stepped closer to the man “Of course… h-how?” no answer, Elijah made a few steps in the corridor, he then lifted his arm, Oswald followed it with the eyes to see where the stretched finger was pointing: it was indicating the door of his father’s private study, the only room in the manor that he hadn’t the courage to visit, even after the latter’s death, as a form of respect regards him. Even more confused by that fact, he tried to reach to his father when, suddenly, a particularly strong flash hit the room through the numerous windows, forcing him to close his eyes to not be blinded by it; when he opened his eyes, he found himself looking at the semidarkness of the corridor’s furnishings: Elijah disappeared.

Oswald was showily trembling and sweating, looking around him to check if he really was alone now. Was it a dream? A hallucination? Nothing seemed to demonstrate that appearance but Cobblepot was more than certain that it really happened; he immediately remembered that time when his father, with a sweet smile on his lips, confessed to him that the house was haunted by ghosts.

Could it only be a coincidence?

He swallowed noisily and, taking courage, limped towards the door that his father was pointing at a few moments before. A shiver went through his back while he was holding the handle. The lock was already open… he personally closed that room, he didn’t even let Olga clean it, how was it possible that it was open? The key was hidden in a place that only he knew.

Another lightning resounded in the manor, making Penguin jump, more shaken than before. It was really necessary to indulge a ghost?

To enter a room where his father, even when he was alive, didn’t welcome him?

He went forward in the darkness, touching the wall near the door to find a switch. As soon as he found it he turned on the light, the room brightened in a soft ocra yellow that reflected on the furniture, now covered in dust, giving it a sinister look.

Among the numerous and elegant libraries, the luxurious armchairs, the magnificent carpets and the family portraits on the walls, Oswald’s attention was taken by the wooden desk at the center of the room and by the various papers on it. He went closer without thinking too much about it and immediately noticed some old pictures covering what looked like a worn notebook or a diary, elegantly hardcovered with soft black leather, that was slightly flaking. It seemed to be very old… he brushed it gently but then he concentrated on the pictures over it: he instantly recognized the long curly hair of the woman portrayed on them.

“Mother…” he whispered, his eyes starting to burn because of the tears he was trying to hold. His father used to lock himself in there to remember the past?

His love for Gertrud that he never forgot, even though more than thirty years have passed?

Penguin couldn’t hold the tears anymore, they flowed through his face while he observed the small amount of pictures. They all portrayed his mother, beautiful even when she was young, even with those modest clothes… the only thing that made him sad was to not find a picture of his parents together.

It would have been beautiful to be able to see the love of which he was the only real proof… he always asked himself, since he found Elijah, how it all started.

Who fell in love first? Why did they have to depart? Why did they lose sight of each other?

Another lightning ripped the air. A strange feeling started to seize Cobblepot.

Why there wasn’t a trace of his parents’ love?

His mother had always kept him away from what was revealed to be the truth, telling him that his father was dead, and he never questioned it too much.

Gertrud never talked about him… sometimes she just used to remember Oswald how much he looked like him.

And yet, his father seemed to remember Gertrud with love and devotion, like he never stopped loving her or to…

Another lightning.

Oswald placed the pictures on the desk and took the black diary, turning it around his hands to clean it from the layer of dust that has formed over it. He opened it and immediately started to turn the pages and read it: an elegant handwriting reported a distant date and the title of what looked like a confession.

 

_She’s beautiful._

_This morning a girl that I’ve never seen before arrived to the mansion. I saw her coming from the garden to our gate and, curious, even though I was in bed because of my illness, I rushed to the entrance to see her better: thick and curly hair, the same color of the wheat, two big light blue eyes framed by long eyelashes and an extremely sweet and hearty face, a graceful body. I could do nothing but to stare fascinated at her, I hope she didn’t notice. Soon after I saw her talking to my parents, I discovered that she’ll become our new cook and that her name is Gertrud. I’m so happy by the idea of seeing her everyday at home… as soon as I could I went to visit her in the kitchen, where she was already at work; this dedication really impressed me. To let her know that it wasn’t a bother to me, I had to offer several times to show her the house. She didn’t talk too much and continued to look away when I turned to her… I think she’s extremely shy, but this makes her even cuter! I told her that whenever she wants, she can come visit me in my room. I hope she’ll do it soon. When I’ll know that there’s no work in the kitchen, I’ll make sure to be free just in case she comes visit._

Oswald found himself smiling. So it was love at first sight, from his father’s side. Gertrud took his heart as soon as she entered his house… a slightly different begin from the one between him and Ed that, as soon as he approached him, was immediately rejected. Thinking back about the phrase he said to him, the same that rebounded on him not long time ago, was enough to make his smile fade. He shook his head and came back to concentrate on the diary, turning a couple of pages, curious about how Elijah’s love would have continued, when it would have been requited…

_A week passed, I’m building up a great relationship with Gertrud. I visit her every time I’m able to making sure she’s ok, and I never fail to compliment her for her dishes. I love everything she prepares! When I find her in a room where we can be alone, with a bit of insistence I succeed in make her go out from her shell of shyness to tell me something more about her and every thing she tells me or I find out, I fall in love with her even more._

So his mother was a shy and reserved person at the beginning, and his father helped her to open more talking about herself? Was maybe that the reason that made her fall in love too…?

He regretted that he did never try to know more about Edward, his past, his family… if he ever had the chance, he would have made up for sure, so that, like his parents, they could have come closer.

More curios than before, this time he browsed a generous amount of pages, before he lingered to read.

 

_It’s not unusual for the servants to chat when there are no chores to do or, simply, when my parents are out for business. They’re all very nice and they always worry about me, even though my health problems rarely manifest, so I let them rest and, in fact, I let myself involved in their chatter. But today I heard something that caused me a sudden illness, forcing the butler to return immediately to his duties, bringing me to my bedroom. There’s a rumor between the domestics that Gertrud has a special interest for the guy that brings the groceries. Maybe they said something like this because, seen their work, they spend a lot of time together…? I don’t know, I only know that hearing that information tightened my heart and, if the butler wasn’t concerned about me, I would have like to immediately run in the kitchen to deny those stupid rumors._

He turned a few more pages, to find out how that unexpected turn would have evolved. Even his father had to deal with an unrequited love before having his mother fall for him?

 

_For a few days, because of that day’s illness, I was locked in my room, unable to see her, in some moments, that sharpened even more the unbearable pain that seemed to devour me. As soon as I showed some symptoms of improvement, I got the permission to leave the room; my need to see her had to be satisfied as soon as possible. I rushed to the kitchen and I talked to her. She didn’t want to tell me anything, she seemed like… scared to talk. After trying for awhile to obtain answers, I understood: it was like I thought, the domestics were wrong, all the time that I freed especially to spend it with her had beared its fruits. She was in love with me but, because of her role in my house, she had no idea how to tell me, and her scared face proved it, so, after that confirmation, I decided to make the first move, to let her know that it was okay, and I gave her our first kiss._

Oswald couldn’t help but to smile again, and to let his mind wander for a moment… who knows how would it have been, if him and Edward kissed… he would have been scared too? Would have been Edward the one who understood and who took the initiative that way? While he thought about the most impossible things, his eyes dropped on a line that left a strange feeling of doubt on him…

 

_After holding her in my arms for what I think was the sweetest kiss she could ever receive, I had to let her go because, evidently too surprised and embarrassed, she pushed me away and ran away from the kitchen…_

He couldn’t understand that reaction… Edward never rejected one of his hugs. The last one, right before he definitely left him, was wanted by him! Ed was the one who leaned on him, who shared his warmth, and those words… he forbid himself of thinking about Nygma again, lingering on that strange feeling that those words gave him instead, trying to imagine the situation from the outside, at his mother’s thoughts instead of the ones, clearly readable, of Elijah.

He brushed the paper with his fingers, turning absently other pages and stopping only when he read a phrase written with a more marked handwriting than the remnant.

 

_Me and Gertrud had finally made love._

Oswald felt his cheeks turn red for the embarrassment… was it really necessary to keep reading? They were his parents after all, it wasn’t very nice!

And yet a strange curiosity prevented him from closing the diary and give up on everything that he read and discovered about his past. A mysterious force wanted him to keep reading.

He took a long breath and tried to keep away the embarrassment, taking up where he left off…

 

_I will always remember this day, like one of the best in my life._

_She always manages to be beautiful… even with tears in her eyes, even when she fidgets below me trying to run away. I had to plug her mouth with a hand to stop her screams… I didn’t know that a woman could be so noisy in these situations._

Cobblepot read many times the word _run away_ , thinking he just read it wrong.

And yet it was there, indelible and black ink on a page of an old elegant diary.

He immediately felt shivers go through his spine while he returned to read those words…

 

_Now she will always be mine, she’ll like it or not._

_I won’t let her love someone other than me, I won’t let her refuse of loving me._

_I finally stained my pure lily…_

Oswald felt a retch rising from the stomach to the throat and, without restraining himself for more than a few seconds, he found himself throwing up on the floor. He was unsettled and felt his intestine and the guts writhe because of all those strong and negative emotions that suddenly took him… he was cold sweating and gasping, in search for air. His legs gave up and he groaned when his injured knee hit the cold filthy floor.

“Help…” he tried to say but his voice came out feeble as a whisper. “Help me…” he repeated without making a noise.

He dragged himself out of Elijah’s study crawling on the floor, prying on his elbows like the worst of the miserable. It took a bit for him to regain control and to reach a wall on which he took support to stand up. His light eyes saw his and Edward’s Arkham’s release certificates.

Another retch took him but Cobblepot tried to resist; he took full of anger the certificate with his name on and then he fell on the floor again with all his weight. His ears were buzzing and the blood seemed to boil right under his skin… he was feeling nothing but anger and pain.

He began to cry and scream with all his strength and the breath he had in his lungs, hitting more and more times his certificate’s frame on the floor. It seemed like he fell in a trance while he indulged himself in that devastating fury.

He crushed the frame with every hit, without paying attention to the myriad of glass splinters that were flying on the floor and on him, some even scratching his hands and some laying on his clothes.

His heart and mind were breaking together with those glasses: all of it was shattered.

When he came back to his senses, the certificate was destroyed by then and left on the floor covered in glasses; Penguin left himself fall forward dead weighted, exhausted and helpless, crushing the fragments under his body, without paying attention to the pain that they, sticking in his skin through the clothes, were causing.

 Some pages of an old diary were enough to destroy Oswald Cobblepot; to let him understand that he had nothing anymore. Even the only sign of love he was certain of disappeared… he wasn’t the result of a wonderful relationship at all, but of the violence of a morbid and obsessive father.

The only things that remained in his, now miserable, life were nothing but pain and hate.


	3. Walking Alone in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We weren't really sure how to write this chapter, and then, after panicking, after helping each other... we wrote the longest chapter until now ahahah  
> We're getting closer...

It was 7 in the morning when Villa Van Dahl’s lock turned, with a slight click, opening and letting Olga enter.  
What she found made her wince, scaring her more than necessary.  
She was used to clean blood, move corpses, collect limbs… but find her boss in those conditions was tougher than expected.  
The woman ran immediately to the phone, dialing the number with a trembling hand.

“Gabe I need you at the mansion. Mr. Cobblepot is…” her voice was trembling and, after she convinced the man to come as soon as possible, she came near to what seemed a corpse. Penguin was on the floor, covered in glasses and little scratches on the pale face… in his hands, there was a black diary.  
“Mr. Cobblepot? Can you hear me?” Olga tried to wake him up, speaking in english, but without any result… the only thing she could do was making sure he was alive, brushing his wrist, checking his heartbeat.  
She breathed a sigh of relief and tried to understand what happened in the house that created that stir but, the only thing that was out of place, except for her master, was his Akrham’s release certificate wrinkled and abandoned on the floor between the glasses and the broken pieces of its frame.  
“Boss?” Gabe’s voice, together with something fresh on his face, made Oswald weakly open his eyes. For a moment he looked around him, disorientated, he then noticed that he was on the sitting room’s sofa with Olga and Gabe near him, worried and busy assisting him.  
The housekeeper was cleaning his face sweaty and dirty with blood with a wet napkin, his bodyguard was probably the one who moved him in there and now was looking at him all worried. “What happened?” he immediately asked, almost waiting for an order to rush and kill someone.  
Cobblepot blinked many times and tried to move his hands… he felt the knuckles burning because of the scratches and made a pained grimace. He immediately noticed that he had something in his hands, a black diary, and immediately all the memories from the night before invested him like a runaway train.  
Another nausea made him shiver and become paler and Olga moved just in time to avoid an unpleasant situation that, unfortunately for her, she soon had to clean from the floor.  
“Boss… it’s all ok?” Gabe, thoughtful, noticed that Penguin’s hands didn’t let go of that curios object. “Gabe… my father’s study.”  
Cobblepot’s voice came out low and scratched, because of the throat weakened from all the night’s screaming. “Check in there.”  
Immediately the trusted bodyguard went towards the room and, finding it closed as usual, he was perplexed. “What’s wrong with the study, Boss?”  
“I… I found it open. I- I…” Penguin didn’t know how to explain what happened, what he saw, what he read and discovered.  
It was such a heavy burden, a so recent wound… those thoughts made him vomit on the floor again, making Olga gasp and, immediately, she tried to hold his forehead.  
Gabe reached out to the handle of Elijah’s study. He found it closed, as usual.  
Something was wrong… Penguin was strange, too distraught and shaken.  
He seemed to wander!  
“Boss, the office is closed.” He tried to explain when he came back to the sofa. Oswald coughed, sitting up again and opening wide his eyes.  
Did he dream all of it?  
He then opened the diary and, turning nervously the pages, became even paler – as far as possible – observing that is was completely blank. No words, no confessions.  
Did he dream? Did he imagine it all?  
And yet, the wounds on his hands proved that something, during the night, happened.  
“I… I…” stuttered Oswald, keeping on turning the diary’s pages, praying of finding an explanation for all of it…  
“You need to rest, Boss.”  
It was empty. But how could he imagine it all?  
How?  
On the brink of a nervous breakdown he lied down and tried to sleep to stop thinking. Was he going crazy?  
A thousand doubts and questions assaulted him and, between them, one thought reached his lips, eager to come out.  
“I need Ed…” he whispered covering his face with trembling hands to not let his underlings notice that he was crying.  
When Oswald fell asleep, his hands slipped on the sofa’s pillow, showing his face streaked by the tears, Gabe turned to Olga, uncertain: “What happened last night? The story about the open study and that empty diary… the Boss seemed seriously distraught, it was all his imagination, or…?” she shook her head thoughtful, “When I found him this morning, it was all in order, except for him and the certificate… I don’t know what happened to him, I thought that…” she putted her hand on the mouth, a solitary tear went through her worried face while she looked at her sleeping master. Not even the sleep succeeded in giving him a serene look…  
Seeing that the woman beside him was crying, Gabe panicked, becoming purple and trying to articulate a set phrase to comfort her, without success. He then decided to straighten his arm, clumsy, around her shoulders, while squeezing gently her arm with his other one; making the situation of the man’s total embarrassment worse, Olga totally leaned on him, indulging to a liberating cry, sighing words like “Mr. Cobblepot”, “If I didn’t make it on time” and “Who knows if he’ll recover.”

After confiding, dismissing Gabe, and checking that Penguin was still resting, the domestic went to a further room to not be listened, and, after dialing a number, she grabbed the phone handset: “Mr. Cobblepot went through a crisis last night, I found him this morning on the floor, he vomited and was covered in wounds… did you do it? What happened?” even though her only secret task was to report what happened to Oswald, in her tone of voice the resentment was clear: she didn’t like that his health was compromised. From the other side came nothing but a “Thank you for the precious information.”  
And the call ended.

“Ed, dear? My spy in Cobblepot’s house just called me.  
You destroyed him pretty well, you know? I have to totally compliment you!”  
“You can go on with your plan’s part.” Cut short Nygma, sipping his tea and absently brushing with his fingers what looked like a black leather diary.  
He hung up on Barbara without compliments and began to turn the diary’s pages, smiling while thinking how effective was his plan the night before. He succeeded in destroy Oswald’s memories and his happy thoughts about his family, making him believe that he was nothing but the result of violence… he made him miserable, just like him.  
Someone not wanted, never ever loved.  
“I wanted you to feel what I always felt…” he whispered, thin his dark eyes behind the glasses.  
He was cruel but he promised to himself that he would have him destroyed and he was willing to use even the sneakiest way to redeem himself!  
Nygma could understand the actions behind a morbid love, he did something similar too in the past, but the continuous lies from Oswald? Weren’t they friends?  
What they built in those months didn’t matter anymore? The person that he most estimated and admired, that figure he knew he never wanted to disappoint, disappointed him in return… deceived, betrayed. That was how Edward felt thinking about all the pain his _best friend_ made him suffer.  
But, despite the anger and disappointment towards Cobblepot, Nygma didn’t forget to take care about the “dangerous allies” matter. He perfectly knew that Barbara, Tabitha and Butch were exploiting him to reach a crucial situation in which, taking the both of them in their most distracted and weak moment, they could take benefit. They were smart, but not as smart as him… he was thinking about all the hypothesis, every eventuality, every damn move in his mental chessboard. His opponents had a thousand and more moves to make and he was predicting every one of them to plan a counterattack. He wouldn’t lose against those three and, most of all, he wouldn’t let them intrude in his revenge against Oswald.  
That was a personal matter.

He slowly opened his eyes, he was still feeling tired, but, cautiously, he sat up anyway. That movement made him bump into something hard that, he discovered, was the diary. He noticed Gabe, sitting at the table, that was looking at him with apprehension. “I’m fine… how many hours passed and you’re still here? G-go out taking some fresh air.” “But Boss…” “Go.” He sent him away authoritarian and, when alone, he immediately grabbed the diary, sure that what happened hours before was nothing more than a dream. Once he opened it, he had to change his mind: the pages were still blank, a white consumed by the time, almost unreal, not a word, not an ink stain assuring him that that night he didn’t totally surrender to madness. He shook his head and closed the diary. If he closed his eyes, he could still see those words written black on white, the handwriting marked and decisive, always printed in his mind by then, letter by letter, word by word… he could even have been able to repeat them textually, if he wanted. Having irredeemably recalled some of those phrases, he tried to push them away from his mind, convincing himself that it was all his imagination, a sign that his mental health was succumbing to the continue pressures of that period, but the deep cuts on his hands proved the opposite: no fantasy could reduce him that way, making him lose control like that. He then recalled Gabe and Olga’s expressions while they were assisting him, their questions… was he really going crazy? He didn’t know, he didn’t know in what to trust, in himself or the others, the others… Edward.  
Edward would have known what to do, he would have the situation analyzed in a perfect way, he would understand what he had, he would have helped him. “I need Ed…” escaped from his lips in a desperate need of help. Realizing that he said it aloud, he put a hand on his mouth. Yes, that was the solution: he needed Edward, his comprehension, his intelligence, his support, his… “Ed is the only one…” he felt weak and tired again, how could he sustain a so precarious and hard situation, if the only stable thing in his life was missing? Edward was a cornerstone, he was the only one capable of standing by his side, without Edward, he could do nothing but drown and let himself go into the madness that seemed to overpower him.  
While all those confused thought were unsettling him, suddenly, all the lights in the Van Dahl’s mansion went off. Oswald looked around alarmed and immediately stood up to check on what happened. Meanwhile, a new, familiar guest, entered the room. If it wasn’t for his desperate cry for help, so similar to the ones from Oswald towards his ex Chief of Staff, Cobblepot wouldn’t have noticed him, too busy with his thoughts.  
“Help me…” he repeated, like he did just the night before; hearing that voice, those words, Penguin immediately lifted his eyes, terrified but triumphant, the confirmation that he wasn’t totally crazy was there, looking at him, from the same place where he did it just a bunch of hours before: Elijah Van Dahl, now covered in a threatening and cruel aura, was looking at his son searching for help. Unwillingly, Oswald came closer to the apparition, attracted by the man’s distraught expression; “Help me.” Those words were hurting Cobblepot’s ears, that, seeing him, wasn’t sure if he was able to control his emotions. “Why do I have to help you?! After what you did! After…” a solitary sob, without a tear, forced him to interrupt the phrase, Elijah looked sorry at him, then continued: “Help me… and help yourself…” without changing his expression, like the night before, he backed away in the corridor and brushed the furniture’s drawer near him. A strong click was heard, and the light came back in the house. Surprised, Oswald looked back to see the room illuminated again and, when he turned to his father, he had vanished, just like the first time. After pondering for what seemed like hours, or maybe were hours, he reached for the furniture that was pointed to him and opened the drawer; he sighed, after all that he read and passed the night before, it was useless to try to protect himself from absurd and terrible truths, he already knew, he had nothing to lose anymore. He took the new diary out of the drawer… the cover was black and ruined by the time like its predecessor, but, this time, the place where it was protected it from the dust. Even though he was determined, the heart began to beat faster; he could rationally have decided to go through that story, but he was still terrorized by what he could find out. He sat on the table near the drawer and, with a heavy breath, opened the diary.

_I hate how she looks at him._  
_I hate it with all my heart. Those eyes shouldn’t look at someone that way, except for me. Those eyes belong to me like everything of her. I don’t want her to look at others that way anymore… I decided that the boy who brings groceries isn’t necessary anymore in Van Dahl’s mansion._

Oswald swallowed, lowering more his eyes to continue reading Elijah’s confession. Those feelings… those thoughts… they were familiar in a certain way.  
The next phrase seemed to be written with a trembling hand and Oswald brought a hand to his mouth while reading it.

_I did it. I killed him._  
_I eliminated the obstacle between me and my beloved Gertrud! It was easy, more than predicted, and I made it look like an accident. Maybe his parents and Gertrud will cry for his disappearance but my beloved will have me by her side. I will be her shoulder to cry on and this will unite us even more! It’s just a matter of time but we’re intended to love each other and being together forever._

Oswald trembled, scared from the similarities between the situation he had with Edward and Isabella, and the one he was reading from his father’s diary. It was all so similar… so wrong… it looked like something tied father and son, making them live the same bitter and mocking twist of fate. The same terrible fear of not being able to have their beloved person… the same mad egoism that, in the end, would have made them lose everything. Cobblepot kept reading the boy’s murder story until it got roughly interrupted; anxious and with a knot in his throat he turned nervously at least twenty pages, completely blank. At almost the end he found the elegant handwriting again and began to read.

_Gertrud went away, leaving a big emptiness in my heart._  
_Doctors say that my illness got worse because of this too… I’m slowly collapsing in the darkness, in violence, in hate, like it happened to my father and his father before him._

Oswald blinked his eyes multiple times, incredulous. A recurrent illness in the family where he was the last descendant? He thought back at all the medicines that Elijah took when he was still alive, at his pale and absent face. He said that he had a heart illness but he did never hear about a specific name to that illness…

_We’re destined to never be loved and to collapse, alone, in the darkness. These were the prophetic words the doctor said to me, before he convinced me to begin this therapy… maybe, with a bit of luck, the black hole in my heart could shrink together with my violent thoughts. I really wish to Gertrud to have a good life, she deserves it, after all the bad things I did to her._

After those words more disconnected ones were following, sometimes marked with the black ink, others followed by strange scribbles. Oswald felt that knot in his throat become bigger, almost suffocating. He felt so close to his father, to what he had done… he was grateful that he never physically hurt Edward, he would never forgive himself if he did that! But that knot remained there, in his throat and chest; the distant echo of Elijah’s words made him collapse in a dark hole, like the one he now imagined in his heart too.  
He was never able to reach the light but he thought that Edward would have been the perfect partner to walk with in the dark that he carried around… but Edward wasn’t with him anymore. Edward knew, Edward, most likely, hated him. Oswald burst into tears, weaker than ever… conscious that he would never have been able to escape his sad destiny.

Totally abandoning himself to despair, Cobblepot could think about nothing but his need to not be alone at the moment. He was scared of himself, he didn’t know what he was capable of, but he needed someone because the loneliness was eating him up… Edward left, and maybe it was for the better, he couldn’t risk to hurt the only person that he loved, the only one that was always by his side. He preferred to repress the egoistic wish of having him there to confide, to freely talk about what was happening to him. Another person came to his mind, she was an ally, she was a friend, he didn’t blindly trust her like he would have done with Nygma, but he needed someone to talk to anyway. Now that he knew everything, he wanted to fight the horror he inherited, like that time on the pier, he had to fight for his life, to not drown in those turbid waters. Without thinking about it twice, ignoring Gabe’s words that, after coming back to him when he noticed that the light in the house went off, continued asking him what happened, he went to prepare himself to look decent. He then went towards the entrance, going to the one who would have been his confidant, at least for that day.

Entering the pub, he saw Barbara going towards the door to welcome him, anticipated by his dark figure on the glass door, “What brings our ‘beloved’ Mayor here?” she greeted him with a sarcastic but loving tone. She was tightening a newspaper in her hands that, even though it was wrinkled, was clearly showing a title about Oswald and his Mayor’s career at risk; sitting at the counter, while Barbara was preparing a cocktail for him, Oswald, that didn’t say a word since when he entered, asked: “It went bad, right?” the shaker almost fell from the woman’s hands, she turned, opening widely her eyes “Bad, Ozzie? Very bad, I have to say. You attacked those journalists while being on air!” “I just threw a gla-“ he stopped, feeling attacked by her accusatorial stare. Until the drink was ready, Barbara kept inveigh against Oswald and his impulsiveness, and he silently listened, more because he feared that she would poison his beverage, than because he recognized his mistakes. When he finally placed his lips on the glass that was handed to him, and that, he noted, didn’t smell like poison, Cobblepot sighed, clouding the thin glass, then drank it all at once. After giving him a bit of time, the blonde rested on the counter in front of him, staring at him clearly asking for the reason he was there, and to explain it quickly. “I don’t know what happened to me… that annoying woman kept asking and asking without giving me time to answer, she insisted on things that I would have liked to avoid, and then she came up with all those people that I killed… all those stories… how could she know all those things?” he continued with his monologue for a while. He had found someone to confide with, but, even though Barbara was an ally, those were strange times and, even though he was letting all the things that were oppressing him from days out like a confession, he still payed attention to what he revealed. In all that torrent made of words he could do nothing but talk about Edward too, his absence from home, his state of mind caused by the loneliness… he didn’t know if some phrases would have made his special affection for him understandable, but by now, he didn’t care anymore: the only person that had to knew about it ended up discovering it in the worst way possible, he didn’t care about the other’s thoughts about that matter, he didn’t care if that would have been seen as a weakness in his regards.  
After listening carefully, with a maybe too hungry stare, every single word, Barbara lifted from the counter looking at him in an accusatorial way; Oswald felt the newspaper hitting him on the arm, making him wince, making the sad and thoughtful expression that followed him while he was talking, fade. He looked at her surprised. “Wake up! What do you want to do, self-pity until Nygma comes back? If he will ever come back…” she whispered the last phrase, that was still heard by the other, that couldn’t help but frown. Putting her hands around her waist, Barbara continued “Your outburst was seen on air by all the city, they all saw, families too… you’re being respected because of your power, if you lose control what do you think will happen? Your mayoralty is lost, but you can’t quit your real job, you know, right?” she was right, she was totally right, but what could he do? “I don’t know how…” “And then,” she interrupted him, with a malicious tone, “don’t you find it strange that Nygma went away _exactly_ the day your problems began? Are you really sure that it was that bad, getting separated from him?” even though it sounded like a friend’s advice, he couldn’t restrain himself: impulsively, he removed the penguin’s head above his cane, revealing a small hidden blade, and he slammed it on the counter, making Barbara jump. “Don’t. You. Dare.” He gnashed, his glance, in a few seconds, became full of hate and resentment.  
“Don’t say anything about Ed.” He growled again keeping his look on the woman on the other side of the counter, making her raise her hands in surrender. Despite that gesture, on Barbara’s face, a malicious smile remained. “Love makes people do crazy things, but don’t get angry with the wrong people Ozzie!” after a last irritated look, without adding anything, Cobblepot fixed the cane, then turned and got out of the pub with a fast walk, caused by the anger.  
After he came back to the villa, Oswald thought over Barbara’s words: he panicked, he got caught by his attachment to Edward, but, seeing his role, he couldn’t indulge himself in losing control that way; he had to regain control of himself, of his life, private and of underworld’s boss. He got involved by his feelings, but this didn’t have to damage what he worked all his life for: become known, earn respect from every person that knew him, making them work for him.  
With the chaos he provoked during the interview, there was no doubt that everyone, in the city, totally changed their idea about him, but this didn’t worry him too much! Becoming the Mayor was a whim, a kind of personal redemption, but, just like Gotham City’s citizens, he understood that he wasn’t right for that role too. He would have liked to be known in the “respectable” side of the city too, a better goal to fulfill his wish towards his mother for sure, and he tried, but, it was clearly not for him. Without thinking too much about a lost cause, he decided to concentrate on his true role, the one he had an aptitude for, the one he better succeeded. Despite the disastrous show, he could pry on his outburst to demonstrate that he wasn’t getting weaker, that, even though his rise to the power had made more and more people work for him, making every kind of dirty work for him, he could still come back in first line, without the fear of getting his hands dirty, without needing someone’s help to be respected. While he was thinking determined at those things, he found himself, unwillingly, thinking about Barbara’s words: he practically accused Ed of being behind the interview, its fall, to destroy his public figure that Edward himself worked to establish… having it said from an outsider was different. But his actual conditions weren’t all Ed’s fault, admitted and granted that it was really Nygma that made his interview disastrous. Together with his departure, that almost made living in Van Dahl’s mansion impossible, making the loneliness that was embracing him almost overpowering, there were the discoveries about his father, his birth…  
Suddenly, Oswald began to think: his father talked with him about ghosts, he told him the house was haunted, and yet, even though Elijah’s voice and apparition were mystic, Penguin couldn’t help but think that the “ghost” was different from his idea about ghosts. The extremely concrete figure led him to a room that, after all the time passed from his death, has always been locked, the keys kept in a place that only he knew, and that, his intelligent friend, could easily discover… ruining a diary, making it aged, wouldn’t have been so difficult for Edward Nygma, that worked with tubes and experiments for a long time.  
Anger began to rise from his guts and Oswald found himself thinking about Edward coming back to his house, after days of absence, cleaning up the scene, making him look insane… what he thought, finding him in those conditions? Was he proud of his job? Did he pity him…? Was he really the one who reduced him that way?  
Suddenly, the phone rang, waking him up from his thoughts. He went towards the phone and lifted the telephone handset, asking himself who needed to call him in that moment. He answered annoyed, “What?” then he felt his heart stop, the stomach turning upside down: it was Edward.  
“Oswald!” “Ed? Is that really you, are you okay?” “I… I can’t talk long. I slinked to the phone.” He was surprised by those words. Slinked? He couldn’t talk? “Ed… what is happening?” he asked, fearing the answer that, without being expected, came: “I’ve been kidnapped, help me Oswald…” hearing his voice after all that time, asking him for help totally unsettled him, every thought he had about him since a few moments before faded away, replaced by total panic. “Ed, who has you, where are you?” “Cane Chemicals. Oswad hurry ple-“ “Ed? Ed- Ed!” desperate, he immediately dialed the number to call his men. At the same time, he screamed Gabe’s name, that was somewhere in the house, to reach him.  
Once his three men were there, with a coolness he forced on himself, he explained what happened, together with the place where they had to go immediately. He stopped Gabe, that was following them, to keep him home, near the telephone, just in case Edward would have called again. Without wasting more precious time, he got out of the mansion, followed by his men.  
No pain, no fear, no resentment existed anymore. The interview, the diary, his father’s ghost… it all lost its meaning in front of that emergency.

“Ed is in danger.  
I will tear this city down, brick by brick!”

The only thing that really counted for Oswald Cobblepot was Edward Nygma.


End file.
